


Kings, Dungeons and Castles

by Pacifia



Series: Black Justice Arc [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Family, Gen, Golden Age (Narnia), Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia
Summary: In which Edmund is locked in a dungeon and bored, Peter is brave but foolish and an escape quest is not what it seems to be.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Peter Pevensie
Series: Black Justice Arc [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024386
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

" _If you can't open a door, you just make a new one."_

_~From 'Crooked Kingdom'_

* * *

_Twenty fifth day of Greenroof, 1008_

Edmund sat in the familiar silence, in a room—actually a cell—that was engulfed by darkness, only cut by the rough sunrays coming from the single window on the left stone wall. His legs were pressed against his chest and in boredom; he had rested his chin on his knees and started swaying like a child does when he has nothing to do. The shackles that bounded him tinkled soundly to produce an echo in the calm cell.

He had been counting, struggling to keep record of time in the dark room. But now he calculated that it must be ten o'clock. Lomero was late—and Edmund had _very_ specifically told him to not be late. Just as he was about to glower at the walls in frustration, a satisfying _click_ came from the door.

"Finally," Edmund muttered as he left his seat on the ground and stood up, the shackles ringing louder than ever in the empty, echoing cell. He waited for the door to open and held out his hands, wanting Lomero to free him right away.

The metallic door opened and Edmund pulled back his hands for he knew that whoever was standing in the doorway and glaring back the way he had come was not Lomero for Lomero did not have fair hair. It must be his jailer. Frustrated, Edmund snorted and settled back down. _Things can't possibly get worse,_ he thought.

Oh, how wrong he was.

The supposed jailer turned to face him, his eyes frantic and a worried look masking his face. Edmund could only stare, muttering a thousand curses silently.

"I'm going to kill you, Peter."

~o~

"What in the name of the Lion are you doing here?" His brother almost shouted the words but Peter merely went on the free him from the shackles with the help of the key he had—uh, borrowed—from the guard who lay dead outside, a clean slash on his throat.

"I won't ask you again. What are you doing here?" Edmund's voice was calm now and that was not good. Why were the shackles taking so long?

"Well," Peter began when the shackles abruptly clicked, opened and fell to the ground. "I thought that freeing my brother from the Terebinthian dungeon can't be a _complete_ waste of time."

Edmund rubbed his sore wrists and glared at him furiously. Peter pulled out a shining, silver knife from his boot and tossed it to Edmund who caught it instinctively. Then, Peter led them both out of the cell. He first looked to his right and then to his left. Finding the hallway conveniently empty, Peter signaled his brother to follow him with a flick of his wrist. Edmund only rolled his eyes, obviously not happy that Peter was taking the lead.

Peter had his sword sheathed, not wanting it to be a hindrance in their stealth and instead had a knife, that had a golden hilt and lion's head, in his right hand. The corridors were eerily silent but Peter didn't mind. In fact, it was best that no one came their way.

"Peter, stop."

He ignored the rather abrupt command of his brother and kept moving ahead, silently gesturing Edmund to do the same. But Edmund being the stubborn little brother that he was seized his shoulder and forced him to halt. He turned around and whispered,

"What?"

"We have to find Lomero."

Peter blinked at him. "Who?"

Edmund only shook his head and said, "Just follow me and don't do anything stupid. You've already sabotaged half my plan."

Peter gaped at his brother, hurt. "Um, I think you're forgetting that I just rescued you from a dungeon, and what plan?" His brother shook his head again, this time more fiercely and in annoyance.

"Exactly. You shouldn't have come here. Just follow me," Edmund said and began moving ahead. Peter scowled but followed regardless. He would have a thorough talk about this with his brother when they returned.

Edmund had always been extremely stealthy. He could be standing right beside you and you wouldn't even know it. And he used this skill of his well as he moved exceptionally silently through the narrow corridors. He was so light on his feet that Peter, for a second, wondered if he weighed anything at all. In an abrupt moment, his brother stopped and Peter would have bumped into him if he had been moving a little faster.

"What's going on?" Peter asked as he looked past his brother at the wooden, carved door that Edmund was staring at. With a finger on his lips, Edmund hushed Peter and left his question unanswered. Peter frowned, wanting desperately to receive some explanations.

Edmund turned the door knob and creaked open the door so that there was a small opening to peer through. Edmund peeked inside and then instantly pushed open the door as he rushed inside. Alarmed, Peter followed his brother into the room and had to cover his nose and mouth with his elbow.

A body was sprawled on the ground, his throat cut clean and a number of his bones broken. It was clear he had been tortured. Edmund knelt down beside the body and checked him for a pulse. Expectedly, he didn't find any and shook his head pitifully.

"Oh Lomero. I'm sorry, friend," Edmund whispered, standing up.

"What happened? Who is that?" Peter questioned. He needed answers _now._

"One of my best spies," Edmund answered and before Peter could ask him why he had spies in the castle of Terebinthia, Edmund continued, "He wouldn't have told them that he was working for me. But he's dead and that means my plan's been compromised. How were you planning to escape?"

Peter was taken aback by the sudden question. He blinked at his brother and said, "Well, I didn't really have a plan."

Now Edmund blinked at him. Then he gaped at him. Then he opened his mouth, paused and shut it again. And then finally, after swallowing a lump and shifting numerous times and clearing his throat, he simply said, "What?"

"Well, it's just me."

"Do you mean to say no one is waiting for us outside the castle? No Orieus? Peter, you can't be that stupid."

Peter took offense. He rather considered his actions brave and not stupid. " _Orieus_ insisted that we wait. I, on the other hand, couldn't _bear_ the idea of my _dear_ brother being held captive for that long."

Before Edmund could respond with what would have been another hurtful comment, both kings turned to the door, put on alert by the sudden dull footsteps coming from outside. Edmund squared his shoulders and readied himself, so did Peter. Peter didn't know how many soldiers they would be facing, but he hoped the number would be fair.

"Peter?"

"Hmm?"

"If we live, I'm very likely to murder you."

Peter only smirked and unsheathed his sword, the thought only occurring to him now. He flung the dagger at his brother who caught it effortlessly. The brothers exchanged looks and stared at the door, waiting.

The door flew open and the number of soldiers that emerged in was not fair as opposed to what was hoped. There were seven guards, all armed with scimitars and swords, all with nasty smiles on their faces. One even had a bow and arrow with him. Their silver armors shined as Peter stared in anticipation. Unexpectedly, one of them moved forward and judging by the exceeding number of stars on his armor, Peter concluded he was their superior.

"You have two options. You can either come with us peacefully and no one has to get hurt or—and this one is not recommended—you can fight, lose and then come with us," the large man said.

The soldier looked at them triumphantly and Peter was about to slit the man's throat with Rhindon when Edmund stepped forward. Before Peter could stop him, Edmund handed the man his knives and the hideous grin covering the soldier's hideous face grew bigger as he took them from Edmund.

"Give Rhindon to him, Pete."

Peter stared at his brother, absolutely horrified by the idea of his sword being in the _sweaty_ and disgusting hands of the man that stood in front of him with his chest puffed. Edmund inclined his head towards the general (that can be concluded to be true by now), evidently asking him to hand Rhindon to him.

"Well?" the general asked.

Peter swallowed a lump and considered the number of ways this could go. He could hand over his sword to the sneering general, who appeared as an unwashed and horrible smelling giant to him, and follow his brother's lead, or he could fight and risk his defenseless brother's throat getting cut in mere seconds. Not for the first time in his life, he didn't have a choice.

Reluctantly, he held out the sword towards the general, hilt first. Sneering, he took the blade and nodded at the rest of the soldiers. Peter struggled but Edmund went with the guards without any reluctance. What was he thinking?

As they were very rudely pushed forwards, Peter let his mind wander to the time when he had first heard the news of his brother's capture. Orieus had stood in front him with his head gravely bowed. And one of Edmund's guards, who his brother had chosen to accompany him to his _diplomatic_ trip to Terebinthia, had hesitantly stepped forward but his words were caught in his mouth.

"Well?" Peter had asked, trying to read through his general and the faun.

"We were ambushed at night, my King. King Edmund was asleep and the guards were on their posts. The soldiers came swift. It was there castle and they took us by surprise, we were at a clear disadvantage. They slaughtered everyone who dared stand in their way and took King Edmund as their captive. I only survived because King Edmund had sent me to the docks to…look into some matters."

Peter had only stared at the faun, eyes wide and mouth closed. He had been terrified and shocked and enraged all at once. They had sailed with _Splendor Hyaline_ in the next hour. Peter hadn't even stopped to say goodbye to his sisters. Without any doubt, the two queens would be furious with their brother when he'd return, well _if_ he'd return.

They had stayed at a local inn only two miles from the Terebinthian castle. All it took was twenty gold coins to keep the innkeeper's mouth shut. They had arrived two days ago and in those two days, Peter had grown more and more anxious.

His general wouldn't allow them to invade the castle without a faultless and proper plan and for all Peter knew, it could have taken days. So he didn't wait, but instead foolishly decided to rescue his brother himself.

And now here he was, stumbling clumsily through the hallways, surrounded by seven heavily armed guards, probably being taken to be executed. _Well done, Peter. You've succeeded in ensuring your and your brother's death._

"Move," one of the guards said as he was pushed through the impractically large doors.

Both he and Edmund were forced to their knees by the guards and their hands were bound behind their backs. He stole a glance at his brother who was staring ahead, looking amused. Peter looked up as well and found himself locking eyes with the fattest man he had ever seen. The man sat on his silver throne, which was bejeweled by diamonds and rubies. His skin was saggy and his neck nearly invisible, hidden by the fat.

"King Luis," Edmund addressed.

"King Edmund," Luis returned. "You have proven to be unduly troublesome."

"Well, in my defense, normally my hosts don't lock me up in cells."

The fat King laughed and Peter couldn't help but smirk himself. Then the King began in Terebinthian—a language that was utterly foreign to Peter but had been mastered by his brother in only weeks. Peter only managed to catch words that his brother and the King spoke. Just when Peter was about to lose interest, Edmund growled in Narnian,

"Leave my brother out of this, you fat pig!"

Peter glared at his brother in surprise. It wasn't normal for him to lose his temper, not Edmund. He was the calm one.

"What—what did he say, Ed?" Peter whispered.

But Edmund was clearly not listening to him, his gaze was fixed on the King, he looked offended and an offended king never meant anything good. Luis nodded at the guards and suddenly Peter was hauled to his feet and forced to stand against the wall, two guards holding him there.

He watched in horror as a silver armored soldier unsheathed his sword, walked to his brother and took his place behind him with his weapon raised above his head.

"No! Don't!" He struggled to free himself from the guards' hold, to run to his brother and chop off the soldier's filthy hands himself. But he was helpless. They were going to behead his brother right in front of him.

"NO!" his voice was loud enough to make everyone in the room stare at him.

"Calm down, Pete."

The voice was unexpected, very unexpected. Edmund was looking at him, his eyes urging him to stay put. To calm down.

"Calm…calm down?" The soldier brought down his sword. "NO!" The motion temporarily halted.

"Peter, shut up!"

Peter blinked, fluttered his eyes at his brother. How was he this calm? How could he ask him to be calm? And just as he was about to say the words aloud, the doors flew open and a most beautiful, red haired princess that he recognized from her trip to Cair last year emerged in. She didn't even spare him one glance and immediately knelt beside his brother.

What?

The soldier stepped back, clearly shocked by the sudden gesture of the Princess. The Princess, Aesha, said in a desperate yet calm tone,

"Please, father, do not kill him."

Peter blankly stared open mouthed at the red haired girl, clutching to his bound brother's form. What in the name of the Lion was going on? He turned to Luis when he realized that the King was yet to answer to his daughter's plea. Luis shook his head, gained a proper posture and cleared his throat before saying,

"But my daughter, he is a traitor."

Peter clenched his jaw at the word. How dare he?

"He and his brother shall die and then we'll take their kingdom."

Aesha adjusted her hold on his brother, shifting even closer to him. She placed one fair hand on his chest. Peter couldn't see Edmund's face and he desperately wanted to. What was going on? Aesha slid her hand from Edmund's chest to his face, gesturing possessively. She then said,

"I love him, father. If you kill him, you kill your daughter."

Again, what?

Aesha had visited Cair once, had seen Edmund _once_ and though she had spent most of her time with the Just King, it seemed nearly impossible to Peter to fall in love with someone you've been with for so little time. But all he could do was gape and let the uncertain hope take its place in his mind. It didn't matter why she loved him because _she_ was saving their lives.

Amused and intensely satisfied by the Princess' statement, he turned to Luis again. The King had frozen in his throne, only staring ahead, probably wondering what he ought to do next. He fluttered his eyes once as if coming back to the present and spoke up,

"Then he shall live, only for you, my daughter. You can keep him, marry him if you wish."

Aesha laughed and embraced Edmund tightly. Luis then said, "Kill the other one." Before the guards could react to his command, Edmund abruptly freed himself from Aesha's arms and stood up. He said,

"No, my brother will live and if you dare touch him I'll make sure your daughter dies with me."

Taking some time to understand what Edmund had meant, Luis shifted uncomfortably in his throne. Edmund kept his eyes fixed at him, daring the King to refuse. Luis looked defeated when he said,

"Throw him in the dungeons then."

This time Edmund did not protest and Peter looked at him suspiciously. Edmund merely glanced at him apologetically and left with the Princess, disappearing out of the room in an instant. Peter was left to wonder if he would ever see him again and felt the sudden urge to punch his brother when he was thrown into the darkness of the dungeons.

~o~

Edmund followed Aesha silently and cautiously. She had managed to convince the guards that she would be safe with her _lover_ and there was no need to escort them to her chambers. Edmund's footsteps gave no sound and he remembered the day he had mastered stealth.

"Take small steps, my King. Small and light as if you're stepping onto a cloud," Orieus had said, his sturdy upper body leaning heavily on the long sword whose blade had half dug itself into the damp soil of the training grounds. Edmund had frowned; he had been satisfied with his performance. He could sneak up behind his sisters and scare them half to death with a mere cough. But Orieus still seemed unimpressed.

"If you think you've achieved all you can, you'll never improve."

And that one sentence had worked like magic on him, had had such an effect on him that he worked harder than ever after that, learning to move like a cat, to hide in plain sight, to silence his steps. He had mastered stealth and his general was to thank for it.

"Come on in."

Aesha's voice brought him back to the present. He nodded and stepped inside the room he had been craving to get in for months now. He nodded again at Aesha and she returned the gesture as she took her place outside the room, keeping watch.

Edmund moved behind the large desk and pulled open the top drawer. The moonlight gave the papers a silvery shine but he was certain they would not appear any less appealing without it.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

_"Knowledge without justice ought to be called cunning rather than wisdom."_

_~Plato_

* * *

Peter had started pacing. Apparently the guards had decided to let him stay unbound; there was no way for him to escape. The castle was situated on a high cliff and the dungeons were very cleverly built on the top of the building, making sure that the window could not serve as an escape route. The only way for him to leave the horrid cell would be through the door which was currently locked and Peter was certain it would not be opening any time soon.

Peter let out a frustrated sigh. His lips wobbled as he breathed out heavily _and_ cracked his knuckles, filling the cell with a satifying _pop._ He snorted again when the initial distraction whirled away. _How had Edmund managed to stay locked in here for so long? And in shackles._ His brother had been right, he was stupid. What was he thinking? Coming to rescue him _alone_? From the Terebinthian castle? When it was heavily guarded?

"Stupid!" he shouted, kicking the wall and only making himself wince in the pain that shot through his leg. Edmund would have been much calmer, sharper. Not stupid and frustrated like him, wanting to smash everything in view.

"Stupid," he said, his voice only a whisper this time as the reality of the situation settled in. He wondered if Orieus had noticed his absence yet. _Of course he has._ Then, he would be on his way, ready to rescue his Kings. _I hope._

He sank down and leaned against the cold wall. Hour-like minutes passed painfully slowly. Wanting to rid himself of the disturbing silence, he began _singing._ Now, he knew if someone heard him _singing,_ he would lose his reputation forever but there was no one here, now was there? So, his lips kept moving and the tunes kept echoing through the empty cell, relieving him of his boredom. He was beginning to have a rather pleasant time.

And then, suddenly there was a _click._ He instantly shut himself up and stared at the door as it opened and his brother appeared in front of him. Before Peter could so much as blink at him, Edmund tossed him his sword and he caught it subconsciously. Peter opened his mouth but before any words could escape his throat, Edmund interrupted him with a very amused chuckle. Edmund's lips seemed to have permanently curled into a smile, an annoying one.

"You were singing, weren't you?"

Peter's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "You heard?"

"You have an angel's voice, Pete."

"Shut up."

"I wonder what that Archenlandish Duchess you've been drooling over for months will think of this. Hmm…"

"You wouldn't dare," Peter warned.

Edmund laughed. "Come on now."

Edmund led him out of the cell, the corridors were explicitly dark and Peter wondered why the lanterns weren't lit. Unless someone had blown them off. And considering how the events of the day had unfolded, Peter suspected it was his brother's doing.

Peter followed Edmund like an obedient child as he led him through the strange hallways, all the while wondering how his brother knew where to go in this darkness. Finally, there was light and they moved silently towards it. Then Edmund halted and Peter found himself standing in front of a wooden door. Edmund opened it and they both entered.

"Aesha?" Peter said, as Edmund shut the door behind them.

The room was, as was the whole castle, unfamiliar. It was large and almost as grand as his room back in Cair Paravel. The walls were covered with thick wallpapers; all had beautiful illustrations on them, extending from never ending ranges of mountains to the greenest of grasslands. There was an unbelievably wide bed, covered with silken, rose-colored bed sheets. Peter realized there were too many pillows on it. Apart from the striking bed, there was a small table in one corner, a shelf with books and a polished mirror beside it.

They were in someone's private chambers, most likely Aesha's, judging by the grandeur the room possessed.

In front of him, stood Aesha and when Peter realized who stood beside her, he instantly lunged at the man, grabbing him by his neck and throwing him against the wall. He heard the wallpapers tear and heard the painful gasps coming from the choking soldier but he was intent on killing the man with his bare hands.

"NO!" Aesha and Edmund both shouted at the same time. Edmund pulled him back while he struggled and Aesha fell beside the soldier, his hands covering his bruised neck. Edmund shoved him back hard and growled,

"What were you thinking?"

Peter gazed at the Princess and at his brother who was still glaring at him furiously. "He was going to behead you!" Peter growled back, trying to wither away the memory and feeling of terror it brought with it.

"No, he wasn't. Now, we don't have a minute to waste. Since you've already given him a bruised neck, there won't be a need punch him. Aesha, do you want Owain to do it or—"

"Edmund?"

"Hmm?"

"What exactly is going on?" Peter asked rather calmly, despite the immense irritation building up in him.

"I'll explain later, we need to—"

"No! You're going to tell me everything right now or I swear to Aslan—" Peter had taken a step forward, making Owain—he assumed that was his name—flinch, Aesha shift closer to Owain and Edmund hold him where he was with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Alright…just, okay, I'll tell you. You see, Owain was never going to kill me. He's a friend." Edmund paused when Peter shifted his gaze to the shook soldier. "Aesha and he are in love." Peter blearily blinked in confusion. Hadn't the red haired princess confessed her love for his brother only a few hours ago?

"She agreed to—um, occasionally help me if I guaranteed them refuge in Narnia, should they choose to run away."

Peter blinked again, his thoughts starting to sort themselves. He was beginning to understand. A little. But wait.

"So—she—is a spy of yours? The King's daughter? The Princess? She's your spy? Edmund, you sly—"

"No time for flattery. We have to move. Aesha, me or Owain? Quick."

"I'm not going to hit her!" Owain declared, plainly leaving Edmund to do what he refused to do. Aesha left Owain as she stood up and gave his brother a nod. Edmund swallowed a lump and shot her a look that clearly said sorry. Then before Peter could take another breath, Edmund had punched her hard across the face; a trickle of blood now appeared through her nose. She sniffed and carelessly wiped away the blood. Nodding, she left the room, again before Peter could take another breath.

Peter could hear her distant cries, "Oh father, he's run away! He's run away!"

Startled, he looked at his brother again who had half flung himself out of the window. He turned to Owain; the soldier had gone lax, evidently pretending to have fainted.

"Come one, you dolt," Edmund said, making Peter look at him once more. Sparing him another quick nod, Edmund slipped down the balcony and landed soundlessly on the lower floor. Peter followed, though his landing was far noisier and less balanced. Peter still didn't understand half of what was going on but he trusted his brother enough to follow him blindly.

They were in the open now; stars gazing down at them, the moonlight making Edmund's skin appear paler. He followed his brother as they crossed the roof. They reached the end and looking down, Peter felt dizzy and the world seemed to start swirling around him. They were too high above; there were rocks on this side of the castle. There was no way—

Edmund tossed something at him and out of instinct, he caught it. Not too quickly, he realized that it was rope, a large bundle of it. He hadn't seen Edmund carry it. Where—

"Tie it around your waist and quick. They'll start searching here as soon as they're finished checking the dungeons."

Peter almost laughed. "You—you're not planning to climb down, are you? Because that would be too stupid and reckless, even for us."

"Just do as you're told, Peter."

Now Peter did laugh. "You didn't just—"

"Fine, I'll go first," Edmund said, snatching back the rope from Peter's loose hands.

Edmund quickly circled the rope around him and then finished with a tight knot, the pressure must have been crushing his stomach but he didn't show it. He tossed the remaining rope at Peter and coming back to his senses, he tied it around his waist and then the weird pole in the corner of the roof.

The height was already threatening to nauseate him and seeing his brother climb down made him thoroughly sick. One slip, one fault was all it would take. Just one slip and you're down there. Here and then there.

"Peter! Come on! I can hear footsteps," Edmund hissed, already halfway down, his voice now an echo.

He gulped and tossed himself over the ledge. He gently placed his foot in a cavity and lowered himself down with extreme care. His feet found protrusions and gaps to step in quite easily and he was surprised to realize his limbs had started working in rhythm now. Smiling, he quickened his pace.

_Just don't look down._

And just as you might have predicted, he looked down. _Oh sweet Aslan._ Edmund was almost to the ground, occasionally stopping to check on his brother who was sweating and felt as if the ground was inching away from him. Peter took deep breaths, one by one, calmed his heart and lowered himself further down. _If Edmund can do this, so can I._

He couldn't.

One slip was all it took indeed.

The gap he had chosen was shallower than anticipated and his feet merely slipped off, and he was thrown down in seconds.

Then he was falling. Only falling. He vaguely heard his brother desperately shout his name but all he could feel was the cold wind cutting through his skin and the terrible sensation of falling, his insides were churning. Gravity was tugging at his stomach and his body could do nothing to act against the force.

He had the same feeling he had experienced many times during his reign as the High King. The first time he had felt it was seven years ago, only a year into their reign. A boy of only fifteen then, fear was common to his mind. It had gripped his heart tightly when the Assassin advanced on him with the gleaming knife, sneering. And fear was what he felt now.

Letting the familiar emotion take hold once more, he closed his eyes and waited for his body to hit the ground.

There was pain. But not the kind you would expect to feel after falling from such a height. He heard nothing crunch, nothing snap. The pain, as he realized, was concentrated in his stomach. He was being squished by something, his organs were being crushed.

He realized he was swaying lightly, moving, hanging loosely mere feet above the stone-hard ground. The rope was taut above him and he could see Edmund half jumping, half climbing down, his speed was almost too fast for Peter to even comprehend.

"Just hold on. You're alright. I'm coming. I'm coming," his brother was saying.

But all he could do was close his eyes and sleep.

~o~

Peter was hazed, very hazed. His mind couldn't seem to focus, there were a million thoughts, all jumbled. But the dizziness were the least of his worries, he was going to-

He jerked upright and then the next thing he was aware of was that he was throwing up. Someone was rubbing his back, drawing soothing circles. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve when he was sure his stomach was empty now. The nausea still remained though and the sickening, crushing pain in his abdomen.

Where was he?

"Better now?"

Peter turned around and blinked tiredly.

"Ed?"

"Come on, we don't have much time."

He grabbed him by his arm and abruptly hauled him to his feet, making Peter scramble. Edmund steadied him with one hand and with another; he tossed his arm around his shoulders. He leaned on his brother and he led them both through the empty and silent streets of Terebinthia, the moon was their only companion.

Peter was barely able to stand on his feet, his vision was misty and his surroundings would stubbornly not come to a stop. Edmund adjusted his hold on him numerous times as they continued their voyage.

"I feel like I've drunk a whole barrel of Ale."

"Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you're clumsy enough to fall from forty feet."

Peter didn't respond to his brother's comment, mostly because he was too dizzy to do so. They kept moving in silence for about fifteen more minutes.

And when finally, after a long trek through the streets, Peter's mind refocused and he felt fit enough to walk on his own, he let himself stand up straight and they both quickened their pace, hurrying towards—

"Ed, where are we going?"

"To the docks."

"But what about Orieus?"

"I've got that sorted."

"Edmund—"

"Just come on."

"No! Just wait! Stop!" Peter shouted, coming to a halt. Edmund stopped as well and looked at his brother, scowling. In an attempt to catch his breath, Peter let his hands rest on his knees and took deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Then, gathering himself, he said,

"You will explain everything to me, right now!"

"Peter..."

"Edmund," Peter firmly said, looking his brother in the eye, never blinking. And as expected, it worked.

Defeated, Edmund said, "Alright. Well, we were here for this." He pulled out a rather silvery parchment, or the moonlight made it appear that way. Peter stared at it impassively, still confused, still searching for answers.

"What is that?"

"The list of all of Terebinthia's secret military camps in Narnia."

"What—?"

"Why do you think I let myself be captured? Why do you think I waited days to escape when I had a knife hidden in my boot the whole time? Why do you think I had my best spy in the castle? This is what I was here for. Tricked them in their own game."

Peter only gaped. "But our soldiers, they're all—"

"They were all traitors."

"What? How did you—how did you know?"

"I have spies, Peter. Many, many spies. It was all a plan. Only Lomero shouldn't have died and you shouldn't have idiotically come here," Edmund said, eyeing him accusingly.

Peter still had questions but he knew Edmund would not be answering them any time soon. So, he nodded at his brother who turned around just in time to see a dark figure appear through a gully on the left side of the street. He was a rather lean man, taller than even Peter. Under the moon, his dark skin seemed to glow and he smiled to reveal his shining white teeth. He was obviously a Calormene, Peter could tell. Even without the Turban and loose robes.

"Serkan," Edmund said.

And Peter was more confused than ever. Edmund knew him?

"I've been waiting for this. Finally, you show yourself, snake," said the man, his thick Calormene accent almost blurring the words together.

"Ed, who is that?" Peter whispered, shifting closer to his brother who hadn't moved, his eyes completely fixed on the Calormene. Edmund's gaze lowered to the man's waist and Peter's eyes followed his brother's to spot the sword.

"Who is that?" Peter repeated, the uncomfortable silence bothering him. The Calormene must have heard him for he was the one to answer and not his brother.

"You haven't told you brother, snake? You haven't told him what you did to me?" Edmund never moved, only staring. "I was a Tarkan, until your brother decided to destroy my life. Tell me, O Just King, how do you sleep at night, knowing what you know?"

"What are you talking about? Ed, what is he talking about?" Peter asked, his eyes shifting from his brother to the Calormene rapidly.

"What do you plan to do? Kill me? You're not that foolish, Serkan. You cannot hope to win."

"Not against the two of you, no. But you are a man of honor, are you not?" At this, Serkan pulled out his sword, the metal glinting bright enough to make Peter look away for a second. "Fight me like a man. Fight me so I can end your life myself."

Peter looked at his brother. Edmund merely held out his hand and said, "Will you lend me your sword, brother?"

"You're not fighting him!" Peter shouted, the silence making his voice even louder. Serkan was smirking soundly, obviously satisfied by Edmund's plain declaration.

"You trust me, don't you? Give me your sword."

"Ed—"

"Just give it to me, Pete."

Peter unsheathed Rhindon, its familiar touch making him smile a little. Then he handed the blade to his brother, slowly and hesitantly, still unsure if this was the right thing to do. Edmund took the sword from him, smiling in reassurance. There was no turning back now.

"To the death," Serkan said.

"To the death," Edmund repeated, stepping forward.

The words seemed to punch him in the gut. What had he just done? The two men circled and Edmund, as was predicted, made the first move. He aimed directly for his heart but the Tarkan dodged to him too easily. Too easily. The man was a trained soldier. And Edmund was clearly exhausted from the climb down. What had he just done?

Rhindon gleamed in Edmund's hold and the sound of the blade cutting sharply through the air was all that could be heard when his brother slashed his weapon, aiming for the Tarkan's neck. Serkan ducked and Edmund scrambled ahead. With a movement that was as swift as a cheetah's, Serkan was behind Edmund. He kicked his brother's back, forcing him to the earth.

Peter's breath held as Serkan brought down his sword and he breathed again when Edmund rolled out of the sword's path just in time to avoid the metal piercing him straight through his heart. Both men were on their feet, facing each other, in only a moment's time. Rhindon moved in a graceful arc as Edmund swung it at the Calormene. But his sword only caught air, never meeting Serkan's flesh. Neither said a word as they moved in a circle again, eyes fixed on the target.

Edmund made another blow and Serkan subsequently dodged it, rather gracefully. After two more clumsy attacks, Edmund started panting. And Serkan looked as if he could run ten miles. _What have I done?_ But Peter could make no move, he was frozen, too terrified to do move a muscle.

Edmund stepped slightly back and Serkan took the opportunity to attack. He slashed his sword at Edmund who barely managed to lift Rhindon in time to keep the man's sword from cutting through his skin. Edmund forced Serkan back with a jerk. Peter could see the tiny droplets of sweat flashing on Edmund's forehead, could hear his rapid gasps, could see him grow breathless and could feel his own heart beating faster than it ever had.

Edmund made a blow at Serkan's feet. The Tarkan jumped and their swords met once again but this time, Edmund lost his balance. He staggered back and it seemed that Serkan took it as an open invitation to make his offense. He didn't drive his sword straight through his brother, but instead shoved him harshly to the ground.

Edmund fell; his grip on Rhindon was lost.

"No," Peter whispered, still frozen.

Serkan pressed his sword on Edmund's chest, ready to kill him.

"No!" Peter yelled.

"I won, High King. The snake shall die today."

As if his brother had read his thoughts, he said, "Stay back, Pete."

"No, please. You can't. You—" He took a step forward.

"I said, STAY BACK!" Peter froze; his heart almost lurched out of his chest at the loudness of his brother's voice. He ignored his brother's words and steadily moved forward.

"Please don't," Peter begged.

Serkan only sneered at him evilly and Peter froze and watched in horror as his blade started digging through Edmund's flesh, blood pouring out, the smell of copper filling the air. Peter's feet were firmly attached the ground.

And then something twinkled and Peter held his breath as Edmund suddenly thrust upwards and planted a knife in the Tarkan's neck.

The sword instantly fell out of his hands and Serkan gurgled and choked on his own blood. He scrambled on his feet, fell to his knees and then was lying motionlessly on the ground, his eyes still open, the life in them gone.

Without sparing the dead man another glance, Peter ran to his brother who was already on his feet, wincing as his fingers slid over the gash on his chest. Peter would have embraced him and then punched him for doing something so reckless but seeing the blood pour out of his skin, he merely asked,

"Are you alright?"

Edmund nodded, still wincing. Peter picked Rhindon up. "We have to move, Tribus will be waiting." Peter looked at him, bewildered and not for the first time that day.

"The faun?" Peter asked, vaguely remembering the name of the faun who had brought the news of Edmund's capture to him. _King Edmund had sent me to the docks to…look into some matters,_ the faun had said. Was that matter to secure a boat to Narnia? That was likely, seeing that Edmund had proven to be most unpredictable today.

"Yes," Edmund replied. "Come on now. Let's move."

"But you're bleeding," said Peter, the red liquid catching his eyes once more.

"I'm perfectly fine, now if you'll just—" Edmund's knees buckled and he would have fallen to the ground, had Peter not caught him in time.

"You were saying, little brother?" Peter asked with a grin. He let his brother lean on him as both slowly moved through the deserted streets. By the time they reached the docks, Peter was practically carrying his brother, his body almost lax against him. Through the mist Peter could see someone hurrying towards them and he abruptly stopped.

"Your majesty!"

Peter breathed a heavy sigh. "Tribus," he said when the faun reached them. He helped him take Edmund to a rather large boat. They gently lowered him to a cot below deck and Peter immediately took off his shirt, the sight that followed made him gasp.

The cut was intensely deep and wide, blood completely covered his chest and Peter was amazed he had managed to stand on his feet at all.

"Oh Aslan, is he dying?" Tribus asked.

"I…I don't know," replied Peter truthfully. His own words scared him. He extended his hands towards the wound but dared not touch it. Gulping hard, he turned to Tribus. He couldn't let himself panic now. Not now.

"Get me some water, we need to clean the wound and sew it shut."

The faun nodded and left. And Peter was left alone in the room with Edmund lying senseless in front of him, probably dying. And all Peter could do was shed a single tear from his right eye.

~o~

Finally.

Finally, he was done. Finally, the sickening touch of his brother's blood rapidly pouring out was gone. Finally, the wound had been treated.

"Your majesty, you're shaking," Tribus remarked, making himself known again. Peter had forgotten he was there. Peter looked at his hands, his _red_ hands and realized that they were trembling. _He_ was trembling. He took a deep breath and covered his brother's bare chest with the blanket.

_In and out. That's it._

"I…I need to wash my hands," Peter said to himself, although he was certain Tribus had heard him. He stepped out of the cabin and headed to the deck. The boat had set sail and even though they were still in the shallower waters, Peter had already started to feel sea sick. That was why he never liked to travel by sea.

He washed his hands, making sure there wasn't a trace of blood left on them and headed to the back to the small cabin Edmund was sleeping in. Tribus hadn't left and had taken a seat in the corner. Peter laughed when he saw that they had forgotten to take Edmund's boots off. He took them off and was astonished to see two silver blades and the parchment they had come here for fall out.

Peter picked up the fallen items and blinked at his resting brother curiously. What all did Edmund keep in his boots? Edmund mumbled something and shifted to his side. A sudden thought dawned on him.

"I feel like I don't even know him," Peter said his thought aloud with a sigh, although he wasn't sure he had meant to. The words were true and he didn't like it. But after today, Peter couldn't see Edmund like his little brother who needed his protection. He didn't like that either.

"Do you need to?" Tribus asked abruptly. Peter turned to him, blinking. His lips gave a faint smile.

"No," said Peter, "no, I don't."


End file.
